


presumptions

by CapnShellhead



Series: calculated promises [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-21 00:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13729413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: When M’Baku asked to speak to him alone, T’Challa assumed he was going to offer him the help of the Jabari army.AU for a scene in Black Panther (2018)





	presumptions

**Author's Note:**

> Quick porn for one of my new favorite pairings!

When M’Baku asked to speak to him alone, T’Challa assumed he was going to offer him help with the final showdown in Wakanda. He is left alone, the sounds of the wind drowning out the sudden pounding of his heart. T’Challa had felt fear before, regardless of what he told the others. That was usually the cause of this reaction but he didn’t feel afraid. No, standing beneath M’Baku’s calculating gaze, T’Challa felt seen and… desired. 

He raises his chin, willing his voice not to waver. “You wanted to speak to me alone, M’Baku.”

“Come here,” M’Baku commands, a brief smile on his face. His eyes were bright, teasing as T’Challa came closer to the throne. M’Baku sat, his legs widespread, his thick thighs tensing as he waited. T’Challa swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. 

“Yes?” he asks, a few feet away.

“Isn’t there something you wish to say to me?” M’Baku asked in a low tone. 

“I…” he clears his throat; a king should never speak before they have gathered their words. He knew that. “I am not sure what you mean.”

“I brought you here. I helped you, clothed you and still, you have nothing to say to me.” His eyes fell on T’Challa’s sweater and a brow rose.

Oh. “Of course. You have my deepest gratitude, M’Baku.”

“Yes, yes,” M’Baku said, waving his hand dismissively. “But it is not gratitude that I want.”

T’Challa froze, his heart pounding in his ears. “What is it then?”

M’Baku’s gaze froze him in place, his legs spreading further. “I think it is clear what I want.”

“That is not yours to have,” T’Challa said, his voice wavering as M’Baku reached out and took hold of the rough, borrowed cloth covering T’Challa’s shoulders. T’Challa stood before him, the warmth of M’Baku’s thighs seeping into his own. How he burned so hot in such a cold climate, T’Challa would never know. 

His nostrils flared, his eyes dark as he pinned T’Challa in place with a look, “Smell like mine.” He moved closer to the edge of his seat, his arms thick and strong around T’Challa’s waist as he pulled him in. His breath was hot on T’Challa’s stomach as he spoke, “Why do you deny yourself the things you want?”

“I do not,” T’Challa replied, his stomach tightening as M’Baku wrapped him in his arms and palmed his back. He was so big, so much bigger than T’Challa and he was reminded of how effortlessly picked T’Challa up during the battle for the throne. He stares into M’Baku’s brown eyes, the barely perceptible note of softness in them. “You presume too much, M’Baku.”

M’Baku laughs, reaching out and sliding one hand down T’Challa’s front. He cupped T’Challa’s cock, half hard beneath his wide palm. “Do I?”

T’Challa gasps, his hips bucking of their own accord as M’Baku strokes his cock. His eyes locked on T’Challa’s, he reaches down and pulls T’Challa’s trousers down his legs. T’Challa steps out, his breath hushed as M’Baku pulls him into his lap. His thighs are spread so wide, it makes it hard for T’Challa to get situated. Almost as if reading his mind, M’Baku bars his arm behind T’Challa’s thighs and rests him on his knees. He slides the long covering up and places a kiss on T’Challa’s stomach before reaching off to the side. 

He returns with a vial of oil, the sight of which makes T’Challa’s stomach tighten in anticipation. T’Challa did not like to presume, it was not his way but based on size alone, M’Baku was well endowed. There was no way, there would be no way T’Challa could take all of it. No matter how much he wanted to. 

M’Baku lays another kiss on T’Challa’s stomach as he slicks his fingers. He looks up at T’Challa’s face and grins, “Do not worry, your highness, I’ll be kind.” A blunt, slick finger circles T’Challa’s entrance and he tenses, his cock jerking as M’Baku carefully breached his entrance. T’Challa sighs, his mind racing. Even M’Baku’s fingers were thick as he takes his time opening T’Challa up for him. M’Baku smiled, his eyes on T’Challa’s face the entire time his fingers were splitting him open, T’Challa’s cock hard and leaking now. 

M’Baku had two thick fingers snug inside his hole when he curved one of them and sent T’Challa arching forward, his cock jerking hard between them. “M’Baku,” he gasped, sparks lighting up behind his eyes as M’Baku brushed the spot again, and again until T’Challa was a puddle in his arms, letting M’Baku take his weight. He feels M’Baku’s rumbling laugh as he slides another finger inside, his voice warm, “It’s good, isn’t it?” T’Challa struggles to keep his eyes open as the fullness of M’Baku’s fingers makes his toes curl. He could come just like this, resting in the crook of M’Baku’s arm as he takes his fingers. 

As if hearing his thoughts, M’Baku takes them away. “I have other plans for you, my king,” he adds wryly. He takes the oil in hand and slicks his cock, the sight of the thick length in M’Baku’s fist sent a thrill down T’Challa’s spine. He couldn’t take it; he knows that but he’d be damned if he admitted that. M’Baku carefully shifts his hold on T’Challa to lower him to his cock, his breathing quieting as he focuses on lining the tip of the blunt head with T’Challa’s opening. 

It seemed impossible, the sheer girth of it sliding along T’Challa’s slick opening a few times, teasing both of them before the head parted his opening. T’Challa’s waits with bated breath, feeling himself welcome M’Baku in, the slight ache of it making his cock jerk wetly against his stomach. He hears a gruff, “Look at me,” and, unsure of when his eyes fell closed, he opens them to see M’Baku watching him intently. He breathes in sync with M’Baku, feeling himself stretch impossibly to accommodate more of the length. When M’Baku stops, his hands holding tight to T’Challa’s waist, T’Challa knows he hasn’t bottomed out. No matter, he’s full of it; he can feel it in his stomach, his heart pounding as his body tenses around it, stoking the fire in his belly.

Carefully, M’Baku lifts him up and then slides him down on the length. T’Challa groans, watching M’Baku suck his lip between his teeth as he takes up a slow rhythm. He’s sure M’Baku is going slow out of kindness but after some time, that is not what T’Challa wants. He nearly died, he’s had the image of his father forever changed, he’s lost his throne, he may die tomorrow taking it back. He wants to feels something; he wants the fire of that first battle with the man before him. He wants M’Baku. 

“This is not what I expected from you, M’Baku,” T’Challa breathes. M’Baku’s eyes widen, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple as he waits for T’Challa to continue. “The Great Gorilla. Leader of the Jabari. I expected more from you.” M’Baku grunts, his mouth twisting as he takes in T’Challa’s gaze. A knowing look comes over him and he smiles, his grip tightening on T’Challa’s waist. It will not leave a mark and TChalla is nearly disappointed. 

“I was going easy on you. I know how delicate you are.” He adjusts his grip, spreads his thighs further. “I can give you what you need.” He starts slow, just sliding T’Challa up and down, ensuring he can take it before he gradually builds steam, each stroke getting shorter and shorter, the delightful ache fading into something even more pleasurable. His head falls back, letting M’Baku move him until a particularly rough thrust sends sparks down his spine. He gasps, his head falling forward to look at M’Baku as he laughs. He takes up short, rough thrusts that draw low moans from T’Challa’s throat. They blend into one long, drawn out whine as he feels himself get closer to the edge. M’Baku’s just using him to stroke his cock at this point, relentlessly shoving inside of T’Challa’s hole as he starts to shake. 

He tries to keep quiet, well aware of how open this throne room is but M’Baku takes pleasure in making him louder. He changes up his rhythm, bouncing T’Challa in his lap to catch him off guard and laughing at the little sounds T’Challa makes. One particularly rough thrust makes T’Challa gasp, his hole tensing as his cock jerks and spills between them, drawing a low moan as he squeezes tight around M’Baku’s cock. His eyes fall closed, lights going off behind his eyelids as he comes, reaching down to grip M’Baku’s wrists. 

It spurs M’Baku on and he works his cock even faster, pounding roughly into T’Challa, his muscles tensing and relaxing. T’Challa feels owned, claimed as M’Baku makes a place for himself deep inside. He feels raw and strung out... and yet still, he clings to M’Baku’s wrists, desiring more. Finally, M’Baku lets out a low grunt, growing impossibly thicker as his cock pulses and spills inside of T’Challa. T’Challa’s cock gives a weak twitch as M’Baku fills him, the warm, wetness making his skin warm with embarrassment. M’Baku continues to stroke him, milking his release as T’Challa tries to slow his breathing. 

Finally M’Baku pulls him down, even more than before and holds him there. T’Challa feels him in his belly as he sits, his eyes falling open dreamily to meet M’Baku’s. He’s grinning smugly, a large palm coming up to cup T’Challa’s face. “No one else will give this to you, tiny king.”

T’Challa glares as much as he can with his fatigue and sore bones. “You may not lay a claim on me, M’Baku.”

“I am not,” M’Baku says simply, his hand coming down to stroke over T’Challa’s chest. He thumbs a nipple, enjoying T’Challa’s gasp before he slides down to take hold of his spent cock. “I am stating a fact. No one else will fill you this way and no on else can. You might have gotten by denying the things that you want before but you will soon learn it gets you nowhere.”

T’Challa pants, watching as M’Baku’s gaze focus on his chest in an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty. It makes him reach out and touch M’Baku’s shoulder. It earns him a glance, a sterner glare when T’Challa clears his throat. “It has been a dream of mine to do things differently with my term as king. I could be persuaded to have more of these… meetings for the purposes of diplomacy.”

M’Baku eyes him skeptically for a moment before he grins, a blunt finger sliding down to play on the stretched rim around his length. T’Challa tightens, drawing a low groan from his lips as M’Baku chuckles. “If that is what you want to call this… I could be persuaded to host them here.”

T’Challa is lifted, thick biceps tensing behind his back as M’Baku pulls out carefully. T’Challa gasps, the sudden emptiness difficult to get used to. M’Baku’s spent cock slides between his cheeks, slick from his release and the oil. It’s somehow even more intimate than when he’d been inside and it brings a warmth to T’Challa’s cheeks. He surprises them both when he lays his cheek on M’Baku’s shoulder. 

“It is cold here,” T’Challa says quietly. “We can host them at my place.”


End file.
